BEFORE

Five Years Ago

WHEN I WAS TWELVE, I PROPOSED MARRIAGE TO HRISTO.

It was a dragon day. Ilina and I were hunting small game in the sanctuary, near the ruins. LaLa perched on my glove, her wings pulled open to catch the sunshine, while Ilina and Crystal took their turn. LaLa and I had already finished for the day.

Ahead, Crystal had just caught a rabbit, and Ilina was rewarding her with a treat—in trade for the dragon giving up the rabbit. Sometimes this worked. Other times, they realized this wasn’t a fair trade and set their kills on fire instead.

“It makes sense, right?” I kept my smile bright, even as the number of my steps ticked away in the back of my head.

“I’m not sure what you mean.” His lowered his voice. “Why would we get married?”

“When we’re older,” I clarified.

“But why?”

I couldn’t believe I had to explain this. “I have two best friends. You and Ilina. When it comes to potential marriage partners, I’m reasonably certain I like boys, and you’re my favorite boy.” Plus, he’d saved my life when I was seven, and he always carried LaLa’s kills for me. If that didn’t qualify him to be a great husband, I couldn’t imagine what would. (At twelve, I hadn’t considered that being in love with someone might also factor into my decision.)

He scanned the ruins for danger that was never there. “Why are you thinking about this now?”

“Mother received five inquiries regarding my matrimonial future.” Just thinking about it made my chest tight with worry.

“Any she’s taking seriously?”

“I don’t want to risk finding out.”

Hristo scratched his chin. “Why do you think she’ll marry you off if you don’t get there first? Everyone on Damina gets to choose. This isn’t Idris.”

Because I never chose anything. Not my clothes, my hair, my food. Nothing small. Nothing big. Nothing important. Everyone on Damina got to choose—except for me.

“Besides,” Hristo went on, “I’m a servant. What would the Luminary Council say if you married a Hartan boy?”

“We’re past that now. The Mira Treaty—”

“Harta may be independent. The treaty might say we’re equal. But that doesn’t make it true.” He stopped walking and gazed down at me, almost sadly. “You’re better than me. Your mother says so all the time.”

“She says I’m better than everyone, but she can’t mean it. I’m not smart. I don’t rescue people. I don’t do anything but dress up and stand where she tells me. That doesn’t make me better.”

“Your status makes you better.” His jaw clenched. “Your upbringing. Your ancestors. The place where you were born. Your parents. The treaty named after you. The title of Hopebearer. All of that makes you better.”

But none of it was anything I’d done. I didn’t understand. Which just made me feel more stupid and unworthy.

“I’ll protect you,” he said. “I’ll be your friend. But I won’t marry you. Ever.”